Those Damn Market Bags

It only took two years for me to finally feel comfortable in the Melbourne market setting. We know that when we take time out of our weekend to go to the market it’s going to be a very good week. So I make an effort to go.

I love going now too because I’m so in control. And – to be all show off-y about it – that’s with any market. Drop me off at Queen Vic Market, Preston Market, Prahran Market, preferably my beloved South Melbourne Market and I’ll maneuver the stalls like a champ. Want to know where to find the freshest lettuce? I know! You like firm fruit? I can show you where they are. Looking for the best variation of potatoes? Trick question. We’re kinda on a diet, remember? Trying to find the best deal on Lamb Chops for the whole fam? I’ll lead the way.

I can show you where to go but putting produce in one of those self serve, clear, plastic bags is up to you. I don’t want anything to do with those damn plastic bags. They are the only reasons I hate weekends and food and flowers and blue skies. I don’t know what the secret is, but I just can’t open them. Well, I can but it takes me a minute per bag. A minute is a long time to be standing in front of the much desired zucchinis.

One day one of the lovely check out ladies grabbed the plastic bag I’d been working on for 30 seconds out of my hands, magically opened it in one go. She then took my hand in hers and said, “too soft. Too new. Like babies bottom.”

In any other circumstance I would have taken that as a huge compliment, but my feelings were hurt. I don’t know how to improve this skill. It’s not like I can buy a roll of plastic bags and practice at home before the big event. At least now my brain is prepared and I know to just get the heck out of the way.

If you’re looking for me this Sunday between 11-12 I’ll be opening my plastic bags in a quiet, dark corner of the South Melbourne Market where no one can see me.